


Snowdrops & Mistletoe

by SentientBentley



Series: Christmas in Tadfield [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Crowley Being a Bastard (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, Mistletoe, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentientBentley/pseuds/SentientBentley
Summary: Crowley hasn’t been himself lately, and Aziraphale is concerned. He tries to cheer him up, but it doesn’t go exactly as planned. There’s also the not-so-small issue of not having talked yet about the nature of their new relationship after the ApocaDon’t. Can the Husbands work things out and discover their own version of holiday cheer?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Christmas in Tadfield [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029840
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020, Make the Yuletide Gay 2020





	1. Feral Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts within Collections: This is for the ‘found family’ and ‘mistletoe’ prompts in Make the Yuletide Gay 2020, and the ‘mistletoe’ prompt for Ineffable Holiday 2020.  
> Content Notes: Please be aware this fic deals with PTSD. It includes Crowley’s PTSD from his treatment in Hell and it has his reaction to flashbacks to the bookshop being on fire as well. There’s a scene of Hastur dishing out verbal and psychological abuse. I've also included additional tags and chapter CWs for language and alcohol abuse. Please proceed with caution or feel free to nope out if that bothers you. I’ve tried to tag all of it appropriately, but if you feel I’ve missed anything, let me know.

_Crack_ went the nice Christmas ornament, with its too-happy family sitting around a too-perfect fire, the glass pieces flying around the bookshop.

“Oops”, Aziraphale heard Crowley mutter sarcastically. The angel looked up, removing his reading glasses after examining a new medieval manuscript he had recently procured.

“Crowley”, he chided, his voice low and patience having waned hours ago, “I know you don’t like Christmas but...is it really necessary to destroy my decorations over it--”

“I feel better when I do that. Besides, I’m gonna miracle it back. But, you’re right”, Crowley snapped before Aziraphale had barely finished his sentence, “I’ll just go to the Christmas market in Leicester Square and--”

“--Now listen here you wily serpent, you’ll do no such thing--”

“Which one? Miracling it back or going to the Christmas market?” 

He turned to face Aziraphale, glasses reflecting the poor angel’s worry. Aziraphale always marveled at how tall he was, how slender. So intimidating to humans, but he knew the truth. And then there was that proud smirk. The serpent of Eden, crawling under an angel’s skin.

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley had been like this since after Thanksgiving. Well, to be accurate, he had always pulled away and gone into a sort of emotional hibernation at this time of the year before then, and Aziraphale had been happy to give them his space. But now the dynamic was quite different. They were together, in some way which they couldn’t really define, but did definitions really matter? They enjoyed each other’s company... _Stop it Aziraphale, you’re over-simplifying it, he reprimanded himself. You’re pining for him, but trying not to show it...you’ve been doing it for 6,000 years and you don’t know how to change that._

Sometimes, the angel had to admit to himself that he daydreamed about what it would like to be closer to Crowley...imagining his lips on Crowley’s, hungrily pulling at that pouty bottom lip of his, the demon’s long, forked tongue slithering into his mouth...probing its corners... _I taste sweet, my love, don’t I...that’s what you want, isn’t it..._ Crowley moaning and Aziraphale saying, _Yes, my love_ between heavy breaths...  
He would always get flustered afterwards, blushing like the cherub he absolutely was not, and sweating a bit. And then he would hear Crowley’s voice in his head: _Aziraphale, you bastard._ Aziraphale couldn’t say he wasn’t grinning during these times, perhaps wickedly. But yet, Crowley could barely handle being around him without veering into irritable territory, it seemed.

Without Heaven and Hell breathing down their necks, they were able to see each other more often and try to really talk about things. Try being the key word; Crowley was apparently finding it difficult to give the angel much to work with. Aziraphale quite had a sixth sense for when Crowley was hiding things from him; a twitch of his head, an inadvertent hiss, a catch in his throat.

He had thought that the demon’s mere reluctance would veer away from panic, but that had not been the case lately. Crowley had had to excuse himself from some of their conversations. He pretended, of course, that nothing was wrong and would make up excuses. But Aziraphale heard the squeal of the Bentley’s tyres, as if Crowley couldn’t get away fast enough. It reminded him of when Crowley had accosted him in the street near the bookshop, begging for him to come away with him to Alpha Centauri, Hell hot on his heels.  
He wondered now if Crowley was in trouble again, or if he himself had said something wrong. He was trying so hard to be careful with him...and yet, it didn’t seem to matter. This suspicion only increased when Crowley started passively-aggressively acting out, which could range from being cheekier than usual to actually breaking things, under the guise of fun. He knew the humans always said “the holiday season brings out the worst in people”, but this was a whole other--frankly unnecessary--level. It was almost as if he sought to cause mischief himself now that Hell wasn’t requiring him to.

“My dear”, he sighed, eyeing the mess of glass on the floor, “why don’t you come sit down and we’ll have some hot cocoa”. He patted the couch. “Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll make you some…”--he eyed the mess on the floor sadly--”after I put that ornament back together, that is...”

Crowley gulped, looking like a child who’s been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Angel, ‘m sorry, I--I didn’t mean to, I’ll fix it--”

“No, no”, Aziraphale said in a bit of a huff. _Why is he lying now? He’s been bragging about his recent antics._ “I’ll take care of it. You sit”, he fussed.

Crowley whined a bit and slumped down, removing his glasses and sulking, resting his head in the crook of his arm on the couch’s edge.

Having miracled the ornament back together, Aziraphale moved to the kitchenette. He had a mirror against the wall on the way to it, where he could see the demon’s glittering eyes darting around nervously. _Looking for a way out. Why haven’t you realised you don’t need to? Or is someone else making you feel this way?_

“Here is your cocoa, dear”, he cooed, hoping to calm the demon down. Aziraphale gasped as he saw Crowley’s hands shaking slightly upon taking the cup; he steadied him with one hand on his, another on the mug as Crowley quickly looked away in embarrassment. He had meant to meet his eyes, to reassure him...oh, dear. Aziraphale could feel the heat rising in Crowley’s hands as he looked away, and--was he blushing..? They hadn’t even so much as held hands yet...he couldn’t take his hand off of Crowley’s, for fear of him dropping the cocoa. Or was Aziraphale right about it being a type of paranoia?

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “When did that start--”

“Never you mind”. That was all Aziraphale was going to get. The fire crackled in the corner as the angel pondered what he was going to say next, Crowley’s hand growing warmer in his. Crowley’s reactions weren’t due to the fire; that, at least, Aziraphale knew now. He had had to screen it off and gradually reintroduce him to fire to begin with, after seeing him jump at the sight of it. Initially, Crowley had literally thought the bookshop was on fire again. Aziraphale had helped him breathe through it, and he had gotten better to where he could still sit down with the fire going.

“Crowley”, Aziraphale continued, you have been hiding so much from me lately, and I want to help you. I know I have helped you already with some of it. If there is anything I can do, please...it’s breaking my heart that you won’t talk to me. You just...keep walking out on me”. His lips began trembling, and a tear ran down his cheek. Crowley looked so vulnerable, so broken then, he thought. The shadows of the fireplace danced across his face, reminding Aziraphale of where he was from, but it didn’t matter to him. It never had.

He knelt and started making circles over Crowley’s knuckles with his thumb. “Is--is someone from Hell--after you?”, he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, in case they were listening. “Is that what this is about?” The demon whined, a high-pitched growl rising in his throat, but was still not looking at him.

“Darling...will you please look at me?” Crowley still wouldn’t. Aziraphale would need to change tactics a bit.

“Don’t you want your cocoa?”

“No! I don’ wan’ the bloody cocoa..!” Aziraphale fell back on the floor as Crowley threw the cocoa mug across the room, several books getting soaked. The mug shattered all over the floor. Aziraphale sighed. More things he would have to clean up.

“You’re acting like a child--!” he shouted as Crowley stormed out the door.

Again. This was becoming unbearable. Aziraphale was hurt to think that Crowley wouldn’t let him help. And what if he was in danger? He snapped the cocoa and porcelain mess away to run out the door after him, but he was too late.


	2. Love of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is ashamed at his actions and berates himself on the drive back to his flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Crowley having a vision of Hastur verbally and psychologically abusing him, so please beware of that.

_Just drive,_ Crowley told himself, the voice in his head growing unbearably loud. _Who fucking cares. Aziraphale deserves so much better than you...he deserves the world...and here you are burdening him with your past? You disgusting piece of shit. You absolute coward. You wanted to be with him so bad, waited for him for six thousand years...and now you’re too scared to do anything about it? You should crawl back to where you belong. It’s what you deserve._

“No!” he shouted, driving faster, his hands trembling still. _Shit, shit, shit…_

The Bentley played Queen’s ‘Love of My Life’ louder, trying to get him to snap out of it.

>   
>  _You will remember  
>  When this is blown over  
>  Everything's all by the way  
>  When I grow older  
>  I will be there at your side to remind you  
>  How I still love you (I still love you)  
>  I still love you_  
> 

“Ngk--”

>   
>  _Oh, hurry back, hurry back_  
>  Don't take it away from me  
>  You don't know what it means to me.  
> 

He had to wipe tears away from behind his glasses. Stupid. He should’ve kept them on while at the bookshop. He was hoping Aziraphale hadn’t seen his eyes, and that he had turned away enough... _turn away. It’s all you do._ The voice wasn’t his anymore, but oh, was it familiar. _No, run away, more like it; isn’t that what you’re doing now? Hastur growled. Where are you going? You really think he won’t be able to sense you?_

“Shut up…”

Yet Crowley knew it was just the PTSD talking, from the many times Hastur had tried to get under his skin, and had succeeded. _You won’t keep driving. You’re just going to go home after all this, and drown in drink, aren’t you? How original. So human. And look at you, crying…little runt._ A disturbed, evil laugh.

He thought he saw the reflection in the rearview mirror change to Hastur’s even, if only for a second. The bastard was grinning menacingly; sickeningly.

_HOW PATHETIC._

_YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN PATHETIC, AND YOU’LL NEVER CHANGE._


	3. Talisker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes home and drinks away his pain. Aziraphale tries reaching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for language, drinking, alcohol abuse, bad self-talk

Crowley stormed through his flat, the liquor cabinet the only thing on his mind. He knew that hadn’t really been Hastur; yet he couldn’t shake the fear that he was never far away. _But...do I know that? What if it is really him..?_ Half the reason for Crowley’s trial had been for treason, which Hastur had witnessed. Ligur was just a pile of goo on the floor after being doused with Holy Water...but Crowley had done what he had needed to do to protect himself. All this was really the core thing that he couldn’t admit to Aziraphale: He was too afraid to be with him because he feared Hell’s retribution. And he didn't know how much longer he could keep that from him. The angel had been asking questions about it. Not to mention, Crowley still didn’t feel good enough for him after six thousand years...what even was a relationship, anyway? That was a human thing...did they need to put a label on it? What did people do in a relationship, talk about their feelings? Blech. He only knew lust, not love, from his time working for Hell. And he didn’t want to scare Aziraphale away with that.

_I’ll only screw it up, and he’ll hate me; or he’ll see who I really am once he gets too close; or Hell will come for me, and they won’t spare him. There’s no good outcome from this…_

And then there was the topic of Christmas, which was just making everything worse. Did he hate it? No; in fact, a part of him loved seeing the humans with joy on their faces...but a part of him was also jealous of seeing families together. His ‘family’--he scoffed at even using that word for Them--had kicked him out for asking questions. Yet the humans wanted to celebrate Them every Christmas. If they only knew how cruel They were. And what was more, it was every demon for themselves in Hell. Demons were conditioned to be vicious, to betray each other. Aziraphale was his family now; pure, perfect Aziraphale who deserved so much better than him. He was so ashamed of fantasising about having him in any way, those gorgeous eyes like the sky, the plump cherub cheeks, the soft lips he wanted to badly to taste. But it didn’t matter, because it would only make things worse. Besides, he wasn’t meant to have happiness in his life. It was just as well.

He couldn’t think about this anymore. He poured the Talisker out and took a swig...and another, and another…until the room began to spin, and went black.

***

Aziraphale attempted to pick himself up off the bookshop floor, stunned by Crowley’s outburst. He knew the demon would never hurt him, and that he hadn’t meant for the mug to ever hit Aziraphale, and thankfully it hadn’t. But Aziraphale had clearly hit a nerve. Well, what else was he supposed to have done...? His darling’s hands were trembling enough to drop the mug, anyhow. He was clearly embarrassed about it, and likely about the fact that the angel’s hand had remained on his. But Aziraphale had cherished that moment, even if it had ended in absolute chaos. _Perhaps Hell has come for him, and he doesn’t want me to worry._ He also knew Crowley struggled with self-doubt, self-loathing, and God knew what else after all the trauma Hell had given him. It was a potentially deadly combination; even if Hell hadn’t yet come for him, with the trauma alone, Aziraphale knew how bad it could get, how quickly the demon could spiral.


	4. Snowdrops & Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes to check on Crowley, and the two of them talk...among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for kissing.  
> Please be patient with the Husbands; they'll get there :)

Aziraphale wrung his free hand nervously as he waited for Crowley to pick up the phone, alternating between that and toying with the phone cord. If he was going to run away without giving Aziraphale a chance to stop him...that wily serpent...he could certainly expect that Aziraphale would call him. But Aziraphale knew that answering was a slim chance in this situation, too.

He tried his mobile first. Nothing. Aziraphale sighed. The only times that Crowley didn’t pick up were times like these, when he needed his space. Aziraphale knew that. But this situation had escalated beyond that, and he could be in danger. He sighed. Nothing from the landline either. That was it. He was not going to sit idly by; when had he ever? He snapped himself to Crowley’s flat, leaving a rush of papers fluttering at the bookshop.

“Crowley?” he called down the foyer, but there was no answer. “Look, I-I-I’m not mad at you, alright? I just need to make sure you’re okay”. Still nothing. There was something amiss...ah, there it was. The plants were drooping...and shaking. _Drooping?_ Crowley would never let them do so in his presence; they always needed to stand to attention. If anything, he had expected Crowley to come back here and yell at them.

Something was definitely wrong.

He looked over into the common room, where he thought he could see one of Crowley’s boots appear next to the couch. _Lying on the floor..?_

“Crowley..!!” he cried, rushing over to lay his hands on his temples, sobering him up.

“Blegh….angel, what are you doing….”

“Shut up, you absolute _ninny,_ I’m healing you--”

“Why…don’ wanna be healed...”

“Well, _too bad._ You passed out”, Aziraphale fussed. Crowley groaned at the sudden shift in pressure in his head, his migraine gone, the room still, but feeling _lousy._ A fussy angel wasn’t helping.

“You’ll need some water and some tea”. Aziraphale snapped those items onto the table beside the couch and with his angelic strength, lifted his poor grumbling dear on the couch, limbs flailing, almost like a ragdoll. If Crowley was honest with himself, normally Aziraphale’s strength would turn him on, but he was weak at the moment.

“Don’ wan--”

“Not another word about what you don’t want! _You will drink that tea_ or I’ll dump it in the Bentley’s engine, do you understand me?!”

That got his attention, his slitted pupils widening. “What?! You wouldn’t--”

“I would. Drink”. Aziraphale held the cup to his lips.

Crowley took a few sips of the tea, managing to sputter, “You’re not fair..!”

“I could say the same to you for running out on me and making me worry”.

The demon sneered, about to launch into a guttural growl, but Aziraphale was not having it. 

“You threw away that hot cocoa”, the angel continued in a hurt tone, reflected in his eyes. “All over my books. After destroying my decorations”.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I destroyed _one_ ornament. And you can miracle everything back anyway; so?”

“I am owed an explanation”, Aziraphale said slowly. He was done with Crowley’s attitude. He made sure to use that tone, the one where Crowley knew there would be no more arguing. 

Crowley crossed his arms and looked away, sighing.

“I just…” he didn’t even know where to start. “I feel like they’re out there…” he whimpered, the words catching in his throat.

“Who? Hell?” The poor, gorgeous angel, looking up at him with such worry, those perfect baby blue eyes poring into his monstrous ones...the baby blues he didn’t deserve.

“Ngk…” he couldn’t manage any more. All of a sudden the tears flowed, hot, unwanted. He was so embarrassed...no, this angel deserved better than to see him like this...deserved better than to even be here with him...

“Crowley”, Aziraphale said gently, putting his arms around his shoulders and wrapping him in a warm hug, “I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that. Heaven will likely come for me, too...but I’m not afraid. Have I not always been by your side…?”

He was too busy crying.

“We will handle them together”, Aziraphale continued. “Like we did before. And after all, we did save the world...!” he smiled that gorgeous, cherubic smile up at Crowley, kneeling and massaging his hand again. “We can do anything”.

“You’re so optimistic”, Crowley whined through sniffles.

“One of us has to be”.

They sat there for a moment in silence, Aziraphale massaging Crowley’s right hand with his left, and leaving his right arm draped around Crowley’s shoulder, continuing to cast his baby blue gaze toward the demon’s gorgeous amber eyes.

Crowley lost track of time then. Before he could react, Aziraphale’s soft lips were on his, so gentle and sweet...Crowley wanted to pull away, nervous, but he had never felt anything like this in his long life. A gentle calescence that somehow burned hot and cold simultaneously. He leaned in to kiss Aziraphale deeply, nothing but the sweet smacking sounds of their lips for several minutes, just enjoying the taste of each other.

_So sweet...and soft like snowdrops..._ he thought of how much he enjoyed the soft silence of snow falling, and of a time he had found the flower peeking out of the snow, shy yet determined, caressing it. He caressed Aziraphale’s cheek now, and ran his other hand through Aziraphale’s blond curls, the angel moaning quietly. _Don’t have to dream anymore._

_This is better than my fantasies,_ Aziraphale noted, as Crowley’s snake tongue undulated around his own, softly, deftly. _He’s so talented, but so...gentle...I always thought he would be bored with me...that I wouldn’t be enough for him..._ he let Crowley’s embrace envelop him, taking in his strong scent, tugging on his bottom lip like he’d been wanting to for so long. _But I feel so safe with him, especially now..._

They rested once they were out of breath, content to just hold each other in a tight embrace, still aching for touch. Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s neck.

“I wanted…” Aziraphale started.  
“What?”  
“T--to hold you, to kiss you...b--but I felt so ashamed...” he began to cry again.  


“Shh”, Crowley caressed Aziraphale’s back. “They brainwashed you. I wanted the same thing but...I didn’t think you would have me…”

Aziraphale scrunched his nose up. “Why not..?”

“Because I’m a lost cause...pathetic, broken--”

“Don’t you dare”, Aziraphale said through sniffles. “They brainwashed you, too”. He looked up at Crowley then, at those gorgeous, glowing eyes. The demon looked so calm now... _he’s not trying to run away anymore._

Aziraphale caressed his jawline. “Do you want to know something…” he said between soft kisses.

“Yes, angel..?”

“This is...your pre-Christmas surprise”. He giggled, pointing to the ceiling, where the soft light of the common room caught a twirling mistletoe plant.

“Angel”, Crowley said as if Aziraphale were in trouble, “did you just _tempt_ me..?”

Aziraphale giggled again, a ringing laugh that Crowley thought sounded like church bells, a sound he had always secretly loved, in both cases.

“Well, I learned from the best!”

“You _bastard_ ”, Crowley’s smile was worse, though.

***

“What _are_ we?” Aziraphale said later, after sipping Chateauneuf du Pape and running his hands through Crowley’s soft hair a while. “Is it like the humans talk about-- _relationships_?”

“I don’t know the first thing about relationships”, Crowley said softly, loving Aziraphale’s smooth hand running through his hair, “and I hate labels. But I _do_ know I enjoy your company. We could--see where it goes”. He was careful how he worded it.

Aziraphale’s smile brightened, which Crowley hadn’t even thought possible. “That sounds lovely, my dear. I don’t know much about relationships either, but I suppose...we can figure it out together”.

Crowley just stared at him--amazed? Curious? Aziraphale wasn’t sure. He rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “And you don’t need to be angry about Christmas, you know. I know why you are...but I’m your family now, aren’t I?” he said softly.

Crowley grinned. “‘S’pose so”.

“...And don’t forget Newton and Anathema, and Adam and his friends. We all saved the world together...and that is something to celebrate”. He raised an eyebrow, getting up and walking to the windows by the plant room. It had started to snow outside. Crowley joined him in quiet contemplation.

“What are you suggesting--?”

“I’m suggesting we go to Tadfield to celebrate Christmas there. I think it will give you a new perspective on family. It will be good for you”.

Crowley angled his head to one side, considering this.

“Might be. As long as Book Girl stays away from my car”, he muttered.

“I’m sure you will be fine. Will you look at that snow? As many criticisms as I have of The Almighty, I must admit Her timing can be impeccable”.

“What?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“The snow. It just started falling”.

The demon smiled, _really smiled_ for the first time in a long time, Aziraphale noticed. A radiant smile, still so like an angel.

Far beneath the window, a snowdrop crept through the newly-falling snow, its petals poised like angel wings ready to fly again.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has been watching Aziraphale and Crowley...

Between the flat blocks, Hastur lit a cigarette and exhaled. He hated coming up to Earth, but scouting had to be done. “There you are”, he growled as Eric walked up, his wild hair and long eyelashes dotted with snowflakes.

“Nice day, eh? ‘Nother view y’don’t get down in the basement--”

“Shut up”, Hastur snapped, the frog on his head wriggling. “We have a job to do. Did ya hear what they were sayin’?”

“Yes, Your Disgrace. Something about a bad field--”

“Tadfield”, Hastur corrected, losing his patience. He hoped he wouldn’t have to remind this Disposable what had happened to the last of his siblings in Megiddo. He _still_ didn’t understand that joke about the avocado. Nor about a thing that Crowley had invented called a ‘selfie’. Probably something just as useless as he was.

“Follow them”, he ordered. “They won’t be ready for us”. He chuckled, stamping out his cigarette.

“Yes, your Disgrace”. Hastur started to walk away, but Eric stalled him, a hand on his shoulder. “D’you think--I could get a selfie with Crowley? Y’know, since he invented them and all--”

Hastur grabbed Eric by his coat collar, pushing him against the alley wall. “He won’t be inventing anything else, because he’s _done._ I’ve made sure of that. I’ve spooked him enough. And if I hear _one more word_ about ‘selfies’...or avocados...the Hellhound will be receiving its Christmas dinner early. Do I make myself clear...?”.

“Y--yes, Your Disgrace--”

Eric yelped as Hastur disappeared in a crackling tower of hellfire.

He wrinkled his nose, frowning.

“Well, _I_ thought the avocado joke was funny”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to check up on your friends and loved ones, especially during the holidays! You never know when someone could be struggling.
> 
> To be continued as a mini-series for the Make the Yuletide Gay and Ineffable Holiday 2020 collections!  
>  Please do leave kudos and comments to let me know what you thought!


End file.
